The Weyrwoman
by Fushicho no Kage
Summary: Keira had been fighting to save Southern Boll Hold from her evil cousin, but now she must fight to save Benden Weyr from the scheming Weyrwoman she is to replace! A tribute to Dragonflight. REVISED!
1. Author's Note!

Author's Note!!!

All right, first, thanks everyone for reviewing! I could just hear that little spark of positiveness amongst all the needs for improvement! The changes have been made! New names!!

Tyath Tybir

Klath Wyan

Rawin Rawineth (I had wondered why it sounded funny…)

Thanks for all the help, kids! Enjoy, and let me know if anything else needs fixing!

-Jes


	2. Chapter 1

The morning sun spilt across the courtyard of the keep, drenching the stones in golden light. The stones that had far too many weeds growing between them, food for the deadly thread that was sure to fall in the coming season. Keira cursed her doddering uncle, the Lord of the Southern Boll Hold. She gave the hardy grass a kick as she crossed the stable yard for her morning ride.

More unhappy thoughts crossed her mind as she did so; her uncle, Tybir, had no children and would not name a successor for title of Lord. Keira's eldest brother Dax was the best option in her mind, but the entire hold knew that Tybir favored the conniving son of her mother's brother. Wyan had been trouble since he was old enough to toddle down the steps of the hold and leave open the stable gates. It had taken the entire day to find all the horses, but Tybir had only been amused by the boy's actions.

Wyan had not been educated in the ways of old as she and her brother had; he held even less respect for the dragon riders and what they meant to Southern than Tybir did. The Hold itself was a testament to that fact; the yards were overgrown, the heavy shutters in disrepair, the firestone pits empty and mildewing with age, and no watch was posted at such a vulnerable hour. The harbor ten clicks to the south had a wonderful rock shelf to protect it from the hungry rain, but the rest of the Hold was desperately uncared for. Keira could only hope Tybir's heir would do better for Southern than he had.

Once she reached the stables, she forced herself to calm down, and quickly saddled her runner, Pathfinder. The stallion was as black as soot and more beast than most men could handle, but treated her better than any other. He whinnied in greeting when she pulled his tack down from the wall and pawed the straw in his stall anxiously until she was done securing the saddle.

"Hush now, Path, you'll have your run. I'm in a festering mood and up for the chase," she told him as she led him from the stall.

Looking around carefully, she left the stables through the back, and once she was clear of most of the hold, leapt on the stallion's back and nudged him into motion. Once they were past the gates, she gave him a gentle kick and he surged into a gallop, following the well-used road that snaked north and west through the hills that protected Southern.

Lost in the thrill of speed, Keira barely heard the warning shriek of the watchwyer and completely missed the bugles that signaled the arrival of some sort of dignitary at the Hold. As Pathfinder raced along the road, enjoying the run as much as Keira, she let her mind drift and closed her eyes, letting go of the horse's reigns and spreading her arms to fully experience the rush of air against her face, still cool and damp from night.

She wished she could let her long black hair flow free behind her, but she had tied it up tightly under a cap because a lady of the court would never be allowed such wanton behavior, so she dressed as a man for her morning rides. Path leapt over a fallen tree limb, jarring her back into awareness. She made a mental note to tell the groundskeeper about the obstruction and took stock of her surroundings.

She brought Path back into an easy canter, perusing the meadows that surrounded her. More land that should be used for food instead of letting it to wild and expecting the sea to provide enough for the growing hold. The thought brought back her anger and she directed Path into the meadow. Pretty flowers come spring, she thought, and more come summer. Now, on the sunny edge of winter, the meadow was simply full of grass about waist high. She dismounted, trusting Path to stay close by, and meandered through the meadow, letting her hands brush along the soft tops of the stalks of grass. The sting of her thoughts wouldn't let her relax, however, so she took a moment to sit and contemplate her position.

By tradition, women were only allowed to be left in charge of a hold if their husband was Lord and passed away without naming a suitable heir, and would only remain in power until an heir was found, so there was no way Keira would be named Lord. Tybir had outlived his last wife five years, and had no intention of remarrying. The only suitable heirs in the immediate family were Dax and Wyan, both about the same age, and both well-learned in the needs of a hold, though Dax had shown more affinity for a level head and people skills, both crucial aspects of a loved and honored lord.

Though Keira's family would all vote in Dax's favor, they were further from Tybir's heritage than Wyan; Dax and Wyan were both grandsons of Tybir, but Wyan's father was Tybir's son, and Keira's mother a daughter, and the male lineage always held more sway. Both Dax's father and Wyan's--once a dragon rider—had been killed in defending the fort from raiders while the boys were both still young. Keira was their senior by almost four years, but her opinion held almost no sway because she was unmarried and rebellious.

For months now, she had been trying to convince every powerful ear that would listen to convince Tybir to choose Dax, but the old man was stubborn and all the highborn blind to what their future held with Klath. If only there were some way to show them how evil he was!

Keira was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of Path screaming in terror and thundering over to her, nearly trampling her in the process. A great shadow passed over her briefly, and she thought she caught the spicy smell of earth before a great thud shook the ground, and the sound of rustling wings crossed the meadow.

_Dragon!_

"A little lost lad has grown weary and longs for rest," came the mocking voice of the dragon's rider. Keira felt her anger for Tybir twist and shape into anger towards this haughty dragon rider who interrupted her only sanctuary.

"It seems the dragon be the one lost. You're a good way from your Weyr, rider," she retorted, standing.

"You should know your place when speaking to a wing leader, boy," the rider replied testily. Keira could just make out the irritation on his face. She was surprised to see a very large bronze, however. Bronze riders usually didn't stray far from their wings if they visited a hold, unlike greens or blues, who could be unruly.

"I know my place, but I know no fear of dragons. The Old Laws bar you from harming me." Her statement was true, and the rider knew it.

"But it is not beyond me to bring unruly lads to bear," he replied. The dragon hummed low in its throat, half warning, half triumph. This barb stung, but she kept the anger from her face. She had had enough of this arrogant bronze rider. Path was only a few feet away, so she launched herself into his saddle and tore off across the field.

"Better you keep to the holds, dragon rider!" she yelled over her shoulder. She knew she never would have had such a conversation if the rider knew she was a woman, but she didn't care. She'd likely never see him again.


	3. Chapter 2

There was a thunderous roar behind her that, even though she knew the dragon would never intentionally harm her, sent dragon fear racing through her. She fought off the desire to freeze up and urged Path faster, quickly finding the track she visited often that would lead her back to the keep faster than the dragon if it was searching for her, which it would be. Riders, especially overconfident bronzes, never let anything get the better of them.

Path was completely stretched out now, and she would have to take very good care of him when they got back to the stables. Sweat was beading on his neck, but she could tell he was running with as much joy as effort. Like she, he was a creature of sensation. Darting between trees and leaping over ruts, she was enjoying her flight from the dragon enough to laugh at the shadows alongside the trail that seemed to dance away from Path's pounding hooves. Suddenly, she felt a dry triumph that was not all hers.

The feeling was met seconds later by the appearance of a wall of dragon flesh not twenty feet in front of her. Path screamed again, pulling up sharp and nearly tossing her, but she held on grimly while her charge bucked and reared, too surprised by the dragon to control himself.

"And so the chase is done!" the rider shouted, the tone of his voice exactly matching the wave of feeling Keira had experienced.

"And to what end, lord rider?" she asked once she had her mount under control. Path was foaming at his nostrils and his eyes were rolling wildly. "Scaring the daylights out of my runner?"

"You should show more respect for those that save your precious horse from destruction by Thread!" he shouted across the clearing made by the dragon.

"You have terrified my mount, you have disturbed my only moment of peace for the day, you have absolutely ruined one of the only paths to and from the hold proper, and you expect me to show you respect, _lord _rider?" Keira asked, infuriated and scornful. "What business have you in Southern, leastways?"

"We ride in Search!" he replied, and Keira's heart sank. A dragon bugle echoed in the distance, and the bronze leapt into the air almost immediately. Keira thought the dragon gave her a sympathetic look as it turned away.

_Such a cunning thing. _

She wondered where the clear voice had come from, its tone so like that of the bronze rider. With a sigh, she took Path's reigns and started the short walk back to the hold.

Search. They rode in Search. That meant there was a queen's egg on the hatching grounds, and a rider to be found for her. It was tradition to search all the Holds for candidates of their women; only women could have a queen dragon, because they were the most prolific. Greens could be female too, but they rarely bore dragons large enough to ride, so most were kept from propagating. Bronzes, browns, and blues were all male, and usually ridden by males. Search meant a new batch of riders must be found.

Queen candidates were taken from all over Pern, and some bronze candidates might be searched as well, and the rest were usually taken from the Wyer hold itself. That meant all of Southern's young and hardy were to be tested for their strength, for only the strong and pure would Impress a dragonling on the hatching grounds. Dax, Wyan, and even Keira would be scrutinized, and any one of them could be chosen, even if it only meant that they would go to the Hatching and come home without a dragon. But it could be that Southern would lose its only choices for heir, or perhaps one or perhaps none. Keira did not like how it bode for the Hold.

By the time she was washed up and dressed as her station suited her, the entire wing of dragons that rode with their leader had landed in the foreyard, leaving barely any room to stand. She was surprised to find that the man that had accosted her in the fields was the apparent leader of this wing, and had composed himself quit differently. An air of confidence rolled off of him, as well as respect. Keira decided that he was not one to be fooled with.

When she exited the hold, she found that Dax was present, speaking amicably to the wing leader, but neither Tyath nor Klath had elected to make an appearance. Concern knotted her features, but she hid that away quickly, doing her best to exude composure.

"Dear brother, are our guests well met?" she asked as she approached, touching Dax lightly on the shoulder as she curtsied towards the dragon men.

"Would be better that our Lord were here, Keira. This is Lord G'lant, leader of this wing, riding from Benden Hold in Search," Dax replied in that smooth voice that oozed assurance. Keira extended a hand for him to bend over, and she only just noted the spark in his eyes.

_A cunning thing indeed, Rawineth,_ G'lant thought. Keira didn't think she was supposed to hear it, but thought that the contact made it possible.

"Well met, m'lady. I must say, however, it is almost a direct insult that the Lord proper is not present to greet such guests," he said carefully, fully aware of the respect the lady and her brother held for him and his kind.

"Tis true, m'lord, but Tybir is no longer a young man, and you must forgive him if he is not as prompt as propriety demands. I assure you, Dax and I can and will do our best to see to your comfort. I understand you will be needing rooms for you and your men?" she asked, quickly taking the situation in hand. Dax may be fit to be a Lord, but she could tell he was beyond nervous about meeting these particular guests without Tybir present.

"Indeed," said a man to the left and behind of G'lant. "Lord G'lant will require a room for himself, and the rest of us will bunk together. We are twelve in number," he finished.

"Of course, sir…?" Keira asked, assuming he was the wing second.

"H'ral. He is my wing second," G'lant offered.

"Very well, then. Would you be interested in some refreshments before conducting your business?" Dax asked. He seemed desperate to have them on their way.

"If you would have us, Lord Dax. You must tell us what you are doing to make the Hold ready for the Thread season…" G'lant asked as he was led into the Hold proper.

Keira did not like the way things were going. Dax was most certainly not in charge, though G'lant seemed ready enough to use him as Lord in stead. As the dragon men filed into the Hold, Keira almost squirmed with worry. Tybir had indeed committed one of the highest insults against the dragon riders by not appearing at their arrival, and Klath had done the same. Keira knew for certain that Tybir's old bones were not what kept him from the yard, but his undying hatred of the riders and all they represented. His son, and Wyan's father, had been a dragon rider, and by happenstance had been killed during a raid. The dragon had wasted away of mourning until it disappeared, and Tybir had since held a simmering hatred for dragonkind and their ilk. To every other sane person it made no sense, but Tybir was the kind to hold onto hatred with the tightest of grips and feed it until it consumed him, which Keira was sure it would.

As they entered the hold proper, Keira holding the door politely while the dragon riders filed in, she glanced up, feeling a scathing glare. For an instant, she thought she glimpsed Wyan's hard features in a third tier window, but couldn't be sure. A wave of frustration surged through her, and it was all she could do to keep her face composed. In response to her emotion, a low croon swept through the yard, startling her. Her head whipped around, looking for the source, and she found the massive eye of Rawineth, G'lant's bronze only a few feet away. The eye was a slowly swirling blue with tints of green and yellow, and Keira found herself almost entranced.

_Patience, little one,_ she heard in her mind, _all will be as it should._ Perplexed, but unable to think further on the words, Keira followed H'ral into the Hold.


	4. Chapter 3

Wyan was furious. How dare these dragon men enter _his _hold, eat _his _food, demand _his _hospitality, and seek to take _his _women away from him! Not half an hour after arriving, the arrogant leader had had all of the Hold's women of the proper age lined up for his perusal, while his men ate and drank at their pleasure in the Great Hall. He was seething with fury, and ready to pick a fight with a dragon, and only his grandfather kept him from attacking the nearest dragon rider.

"Stay calm, Wyan. They will leave soon enough when they find no prospects for their precious queen. And the best way to show your hatred for their kind is to shun their beloved tradition. That is why we wait for them to come to us, and that is why we hide our most valuable women. Stay by, and watch." The old man's advice was well heeded by Wyan, and so the two sat at the head of the feast table, silent and biding, watching as G'lant made his Search.

And what lowly prospects, the wing leader thought, almost disgusted. These women were either too old, too young, or too stupid to make an honest Weyrwoman. And an honest Weyrwoman they needed after Felina's manipulative ways and her bedding of any dragon man that would have her. Her daughter was proving to be no better, and because of her heritage, _had _to be a candidate for the new queen for political reasons. Now, on the last leg of this Search, with the eggs ready to hatch soon, he had found a depressingly low number of hopefuls. There was one girl back in Tilgen Hold, but her family was much too reluctant to give her up, and she wasn't quite strong-willed enough for a Weyrwoman. Were there no strong women left in all of Pern?

_There is one, _Rawineth reminded him. Yes, G'lant mused. The powerful mind they had felt in the fields… But all they had found was a wily young lad. A good bronze he would make, the dragon man thought, but no candidate for queen. And he had not seen him since.

"The word has come that all the other wing leaders have returned to Benden, G'lant," his second told him. "You must make a choice here today!"

"Of this poor lot? We need a strong Weyrwoman to make a strong queen, and none of these women, lovely as they may be, have the brains to make even a decent housewife. Tybir mocks us," he fumed, knowing there wasn't much he could do. Tybir had made no direct insult, and if G'lant charged him with anything, he would look the wrongdoer.

"My lords," came the soft voice of Keira. "My lords, do you require anything more of me? I have many Hold affairs to attend to and must part your company…" she said carefully. Path was waiting in the stables, and she didn't trust the stablehands to give him the proper care.

"No, m'lady, you have done more than your share to see to our comfort. Go on your way," G'lant replied gently, lost in his thoughts. Keira bowed gracefully before taking her leave. She was halfway to the door when she heard the sound of a chair being pushed back roughly. She froze in her place, still as stone, waiting for the words she knew would come.

"You have made your Search _lord _G'lant!" came Wyan's haughty voice. Keira turned slowly, fear and anger mixing in her as she watched the scene unfold.

"For years now the Hold has made its tribute to the dragon riders," he continued, the words like poison in the air, "and for years no Thread has fallen! What good, then, is your kind but for taking from the Holds what you do not need!" he demanded.

"You know as well as any educated man, Wyan. The Red Star is a wandering thing. Thread is not always predictable. It has happened before that the Wanderer did not swing close enough to Pern to leave its deadly cargo. Do you wish to risk the lives of your Hold for the chance that Thread will not fall this season?" G'lant responded easily.

"It's been twenty years! To some Thread is only a story!" Wyan shot back.

"And to others, scarred by its lethal touch, it is only a nightmare!" the wing leader answered, only a trickle of anger touching his words. "Other holds prepare for the inevitability, but your Hold is sadly defenseless! And you mock the tradition of Search!"

"And why should I not?" the younger man insisted. "Our women are as valuable to us as you, so why should I not keep our best from your greedy eyes?" At his words, a gasp swept through the hall. Wyan had openly admitted to insulting the dragon riders.

"Mind your tongue, boy!" Tybir hissed, his hands white where they gripped the table, his face pale.

"The dragon riders have passed out of usefulness!" Wyan continued, oblivious to what his words meant. "Theirs is an old time, and the Holds should no longer pay tribute to their sloth!"

The anger in Keira was boiling now, but it was mixed with a searing triumph; Wyan would never be named Lord Holder after this outburst. Her mind racing, she raised her voice.

"And you do not remember, do you, Wyan?" she asked, her voice rising above the murmuring crowd of hold folk. They became hushed at her words, curious, anxious, expecting.

"Remember what, dear _sister_?" he demanded.

"You do not remember how your father died." At her statement, his haughty expression faltered briefly, and Tybir covered his face with a wizened hand.

"He died in a raid. It was an accident," he replied, uncertain.

"He died in a raid, aye. But your father was greater than you know! When he died he was a dragon rider, and you were too young to remember. He died in a raid not by human criminals, but by deadly Thread!" The Hall was suddenly alive with conversation, but her next words brought more silence.

"Your father believed, Wyan! You were but a babe when the last Thread fell, but fall it did, and it took your father's life! Would you have that for the rest of the Hold?" she demanded, her eyes blazing.

"You lie!" he cried out, clutching his ears as if to pull the words from his mind.

"Lord Holder, I ask you now, would you name this man as your successor, even with all your loathing of dragonkind, and let the Hold perish when Thread returns?" she asked, turning her attention to Tybir.

"Yes!" he shouted. His reply was met with cries of dissent from the high born in the room; they did not want their Hold falling to waste for an old man's grudge.

"And return Thread will!" shouted G'lant, drawing attention and again silencing the room. Rawineth bugled outside, adding power to his words. He was certain that the Lady Keira was the powerful mind Rawineth had felt, and he would now defend her cause and the Hold.

"Every dawn the Red Star draws closer and closer to the Eye Rock! And educated as you are, you know what this means, Tybir! Thread is imminent!" he said, emphasizing each word.

"And Wyan does not have the strength to protect the Hold!" Dax added, knowing he must become part of the fight if he were to be chosen.

"I would die before I choose a sympathizer like you!" the old man hissed.

"I will not see my Hold go to waste!" This cry came from one of the senior council members, Jared. He was answered by a majority of the room, including most of the other council members.

"Your time is almost done, Tybir!" Keira pleaded. "Would you be remembered as the man who led his Hold to ruin?"

"_I _will be Lord Holder!" Wyan cried, "even if I have to kill to do it!" Steel suddenly glittered in his hand and Keira screamed.

Everything happened in the blink of an eye; Keira heard Rawineth emit a snarling roar even as G'lant leapt into action, but he was just a fraction too late. By the time he had Wyan pinned to the table, the incensed man had stabbed Tybir through the heart. A roar of anger went through the crowd as Keira ran forward to attend her uncle.

"Tybir!" she gasped, tearing off a chunk of her skirt to press against the gaping wound. She felt tears on her cheeks even as she met the old man's eyes with hers.

"I see now... how evil he was…," Tybir murmured. "I name Dax, Lord Holder of…Southern," he said slowly.

"And witnessed by dragon kind, it shall be so!" G'lant cried, handing the fighting Wyan over to his second and the rest of his wing for imprisonment. Rawineth bugled outside.

"Uncle…" Keira whispered, gripping his hand in hers. Dax was suddenly by her side, concern written on his face.

"It should have been you," he murmured, gently stroking her face with a bloody hand. "Thank you, Keira…" And those words were his last. Struck, unable to move, Keira could only watch as the life faded from his eyes.


End file.
